


Confidence

by BazinMousqueton



Series: The Body and the Battle [1]
Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Blow Jobs, Episode Related, Established Relationship, Explicit Sexual Content, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Strip Tease, You Can Keep Your Hat On, spoilers for 1x01
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-22
Updated: 2016-07-22
Packaged: 2018-07-26 02:51:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,948
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7557235
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BazinMousqueton/pseuds/BazinMousqueton
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Porthos doesn't undress Athos, Aramis loses a mistress, and Porthos and Aramis comfort each other with brandy and blow jobs.</p><p>Or: everyone has a crush on Athos, Aramis is beautiful and cocky, and Porthos attempts to render Aramis non-verbal.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Confidence

**Author's Note:**

> Set during and straight after 1x01 (Friends and Enemies). 
> 
> This is the first fic I've posted. Let me know what you think... and whether you want more.

Porthos took a deep draught of his wine, waiting for Aramis to speak. Something was troubling his friend. Flickering candlelight revealed the tension around his mouth. A furrow sliced through the scar on his brow.

Le Tambour Royal was thronged with soldiers, artisans and merchants attracted by the blazing fire and passable wine. Those who'd ridden from outside Paris trailed snow across the bare earth floor, raising a forest scent that mingled with the smell of burning logs and smoky tallow. Porthos and Aramis had secured their favourite table in the middle of the room -- with charm and coin rather than intimidation -- while Athos had slunk away to drink alone.

Aramis ran a slender finger around the rim of his goblet. "Athos turned me down," he said, looking up at Porthos. "No-one's ever turned me down." 

Porthos read more shock than hurt in his friend's wide eyes. He laughed, reached across the table and clapped Aramis on the biceps, hard enough to rock him sideways. 

"First time for everything." He used his thumb and forefinger to curl the left tip of his moustache. "You should have seen how he looked at me the other day. The man loves to watch."

The lad from Gascony, D'Artagnan, returned with a bottle of Beaugency, forcing Porthos and Aramis's conversation back onto the straight and narrow. Aramis drank up and stood, keen to bury the pain of his rejection in his dangerous mistress's body. 

"I'd better stay behind," Porthos said, with a half wink for Aramis. "He'll need someone to carry him home."

# # #

Porthos had lost count, years ago, of the number of times he'd dragged a barely-conscious Athos along the narrow streets from Le Tambour. He could have made the journey to Athos's apartments blindfold. Even the two flights up to Athos's door -- too narrow for two men to climb abreast -- posed no challenge. He paused in the courtyard, bent his knees, and lifted Athos onto his back before bounding up the stairs.

The chill in Athos's room made him shiver. The smell -- stale wine, sweat and Athos -- was so familiar it felt like coming home. He lowered his friend, gently, to the bed, pulled off his boots, throwing them into the corner of the room, and unbuckled his sword belt. Athos groaned as Porthos raised his hips and pulled the belt away. 

This undressing bore no resemblance to Porthos's recurrent fantasy of stripping Athos. The Athos of his dreams -- the Athos he and Aramis competed to seduce -- was fully conscious and reciprocating. More: that Athos was eager. He was panting. He--

Porthos stubbed his toe on a bottle. He cursed and kicked it under the bed. It clattered into a hoard of empties, glass shattering. The din raised Athos to something approaching alertness. He sat, reaching for his missing pistol, and swore.

"Hey, hey." Porthos held out his hands. "You're alright."

Athos looked at him, eyes narrowed, groaned again, and fell back on the bed. He was asleep and snoring within the minute.

# # #

Back at his own apartment, wide awake, Porthos considered going out to find company. A burst of sleet against the window pane sent him in search of brandy instead. He settled down with a half-full bottle in front of the brazier, grateful to his landlady for lighting the charcoal while he'd been out.

His thoughts returned to Le Tambour Royal: not that night, but a few mornings earlier. He'd been swindling a Red Guard when Athos had arrived. The soldier, Dujon, had hair and eyes as dark as Aramis's, without his lithe strength. Scrawny and somewhat slow on the uptake, Dujon had lost nigh on a month's pay before realising he'd been played. 

Porthos unbuttoned his breeches, remembering the sound of Athos's self-assured stride barging into the tavern. Porthos hadn't needed to look up to identify the newcomer. His cock stiffened as he replayed the episode: Athos pretending neutrality while setting Porthos up to perform for his entertainment. Athos hadn't been wearing his scarf. The triangle of pale neck on show had been temptingly kissable. Every word Porthos had said to Dujon he'd meant for Athos. Especially one. 

"Confidence," he'd said, his confident friend's gaze on him. He loved Athos's confidence. The way Athos held his head high and his voice level, whatever the situation. Nothing intimidated Athos. 

Porthos's cock strained against his drawers. He untied the bow and eased the laces open, closing his eyes to better picture Athos. He licked his palm, tasting metal and blood and soot, and wrapped it around the tip of his cock, sliding his foreskin gently back. His pulse accelerated. He tightened his grip, stroking down. He imagined undressing Athos: unbuckling and unbuttoning, sliding off Athos's doublet, stepping back to admire him in his loose shirt--

A pounding on the door. Porthos jumped, eyes flicking open. He had a dagger within reach, his pistol was two strides away, and he'd be able to do some damage with the brandy bottle by his side.

"Who is it?" he called. He fumbled with his linens. Too late. The door swung open, slamming against the wall. Aramis stormed into the room, snatching off his hat and flinging it onto Porthos's bed. He ran his fingers through his hair and unbuckled his sword belt and bandolier. Porthos's heart thumped. His cock twitched. He licked his lips and gave up on his laces.

"The Cardinal's taken Adele away," Aramis said, prowling towards the brazier. "It'll be my fault if anything happens to her." He halted, finally registering Porthos's state, and raised an eyebrow. "It seems I'm interrupting."

"Close the door, Aramis."

Aramis obeyed, leaning back against the door and slowly unbuttoning his coat. "I trust you were thinking of me?"

"In the arms of Mademoiselle Bessette? No chance. I'd rather not offend the Cardinal, even in my thoughts. I like being alive."

Aramis paled. "What if he's had her killed?"

Porthos sighed. He tucked himself back into his breeches, without fastening the buttons, took a swig of brandy and held the bottle out. "The Cardinal's a dangerous man. You knew that when you started fucking Adele."

Aramis tugged his coat off and took the brandy. "I knew it. Adele didn't. My poor innocent love." He settled himself on the floor between Porthos's legs, leaning back, arms on Porthos's thighs.

"Innocent?" Porthos swatted the top of Aramis's head, lightly. "She's not a child for you to shelter from the big bad world. She's an adult who wanted you and accepted the risk. She knows, far better than you, what the Cardinal is capable of."

Aramis poured brandy down his throat. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and took another long gulp. "I'll never forgive myself if he's done something to her."

Porthos reclaimed the bottle and set it aside. He'd already put one drunk to bed. He wanted Aramis awake. "Never forgive _him_ ," he said. "And remember her bravery."

Aramis turned to face Porthos, quirking his eyebrows and smiling. "Her bravery and her clever hands."

Porthos gripped Aramis's chin and leaned down into a kiss. It started gently: lips; the tip of Aramis's tongue; the soft rasp of his whiskers. Aramis reached up, curled his fingers into Porthos's nape, and tilted his head to deepen the kiss. Porthos's heartbeat quickened. He moaned, low, into Aramis's mouth. Aramis sucked his bottom lip. Porthos tangled his hands in Aramis's hair and flicked his tongue along Aramis's.

They broke apart, both breathing heavily. Aramis stood. Porthos leaned back in his chair. He picked up the brandy and raised the bottle in a silent toast. He couldn't stop himself grinning.

Aramis pushed his braces off his shoulders. He untucked his shirt. The creamy linen billowed. He crossed his arms to catch its hem, drew it over his head in a smooth movement that flexed his beautiful chest, and let it float to the floor. He pushed his hair off his face. A flush spread up his neck, matching the heat Porthos felt rising to his cheeks.

Aramis's hands moved down to his breeches. Porthos lifted one finger. Aramis froze. 

"You look good like that," Porthos said.

"I look better naked."

Porthos took a sip of brandy. He pretended to consider. Aramis kept his gaze locked on Porthos's face, his body still. Porthos drank again. Put the bottle down. Stared straight into Aramis's eyes. 

"You look best naked and kneeling at my feet," he said. "Get on with it."

Aramis flashed him a smile and unbuttoned his breeches, fingers fast and deft, then untied his drawers. He pushed both to the floor, stepped out of them, and dropped to his knees. His cock stood hard and proud. His necklace swung into Porthos's thigh, its light touch making Porthos tremble. 

Aramis folded back the fabric at Porthos's fly, releasing his cock. Aramis leaned in, looking up at Porthos, and teased the point of his tongue up the full length of Porthos's shaft. Porthos gasped. He clenched and released his hands.

Aramis's tongue circled. 

Porthos arched his back. Aramis stretched his mouth over the tip of Porthos's cock. His tongue pressed down as he dipped his head and sucked. He closed his right hand over the base of Porthos's shaft and built up a rhythm, hand and mouth working together, tongue swirling. Porthos's nerve endings tingled; he moaned his appreciation, light headed.

Aramis shifted. Porthos tensed, knowing what was coming. Aramis's left hand caressed Porthos's balls, stroked backwards, a finger slipping between Porthos's buttocks.

Porthos sucked in air. "So--" he said, not knowing what he was going to say. So much? So good? "So..." -- he breathed out -- "so... close."

Aramis hummed into Porthos's cock and the vibration undid Porthos. He came, hard, jerking into Aramis's mouth. Aramis licked; swallowed; groaned. Porthos relaxed, every muscle slack. He shut his eyes. He felt Aramis sit back; didn't need to look to see his friend's satisfaction.

"Pleased with yourself?" Porthos asked.

"With just cause," Aramis said, standing. Porthos opened his eyes and watched Aramis stride to the bed to fetch his hat. He returned wearing nothing but the hat, its feathers and his cock both erect. 

"You should try approaching Athos like that," Porthos said, drawing Aramis into a deep kiss. He could taste himself on Aramis's tongue. He pulled away, dropping a line of kisses down Aramis's chest. 

"I'd freeze," Aramis said. "You know how cold his apartment is."

Porthos breathed, hot, on Aramis's cock. Aramis whimpered. 

"And that's why I'll be the first to seduce him," Porthos said. "You're too used to everything coming easy." He wrapped his lips around the head of Aramis's cock and sucked. Aramis swayed and gripped Porthos's shoulders. Porthos widened his mouth and pushed down, drawing a high-pitched cry from Aramis.

Aramis panted, struggling to find the breath to speak. Porthos drew back, sucking, and pushed down again. Aramis tightened his hold, his fingers digging in to Porthos's shoulders. 

"It's only easy..." Aramis managed. Porthos increased his pace. He wanted Aramis non-verbal.

"...easy..." Aramis repeated. He gasped. Porthos ghosted his fingertips up the back of Aramis's thighs. Aramis shuddered. He breathed Porthos's name as he released into his friend's mouth. Porthos wrapped his arms around Aramis, holding him up. When Aramis was spent, Porthos stood, lifted him easily, and carried him to the bed. Aramis sprawled naked and sated across the covers while Porthos peeled off his own clothes.

"It's easy," Aramis said, his voice only a little unsteady, "because I'm irresistible. Which is why I'll beat you to Athos."

"Confidence," Porthos said, speaking both to the musketeer in his bed and the one he'd left snoring and alone. "I like that in a man."


End file.
